Travelers Welcome

Thursday, March 6, 2014

Lone asylum behind me

by Tammy T. Stone

Lone asylum behind me
Perched on a hilltop
The walls have long disappeared
To join the other
Naked inhabitants, and it
Gets so cold at night,
So dark, especially when the
Moon has hardly grown
Which explains all the wailing
And ahead of me, the
Mountain which is not a mountain
High peaks razed trees
Luminous points like eyes, like
The full moon,
The growing, which we have
Had the fortune to witness
Most nights the sky
Has been clear
Though things change
So fast as we watch,
Clouds now, and
The trees which are not trees
Grow walnuts and sour
Cherries under the fog,
You can watch them
Be eaten by
The birds which are not birds, who
Welcome us early to the day.